


Norfolk Forest

by Aithilin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Fawnlock, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Growing Up, Kid Fic, alternative universe - fawnlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor Trevor had always been fascinated by the forest on the opposite side of the lake. When he's ten, he goes to explore it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Norfolk Forest

There was a forest on the far edge of the lake. During the summer holidays at home, Victor would follow his father out to the little docks set up where their property touched the water, and he watched the trees. While his father droned on about fishing and business, Victor watched for deer.

When the lake froze in the winter, he wandered away from the other local children skating around the edges of the shallows. He’d leave his skates on the rocky bank, and explore the tree line. With his book of animal tracks and birds, he’d start tramping through the frozen underbrush. Of course, now, he realized that he probably scared more animals away than he managed to see.

But he lived for those glimpses of deer that came to the water’s edge in the summer. It was like watching a fairytale come to life.

He was ten when he took the boat out himself. It took him hours (but he had planned for a full day out— even packed a lunch), but he crossed the lake on his own. Boat tied to a thin tree, he shouldered his pack lunch, readied his camera, and started his walk.

It had started bright. The trees spaced well apart by the waters’ edge, and closer as he went deeper into the forest. The sunlight that filtered through the open, fairytale forest he started in couldn’t quite reach the damp ground of the thicker growth. But Victor knew he wasn’t lost, the forest was a border for a popular camping spot— he had just come at it from the wrong side (the idea of kilometres and kilometres of thick, old forest hadn’t quite registered in his ten-year-old mind— it was a short drive around, after all).

But he started early and planned ahead, and was too fascinated by the marks on the trees his books told him were antler marks from deer rubbing away velvet from the spring growths. He found fox trails and abandoned dens, rabbit holes and warren marks, plenty of bird nests, and took plenty of pictures.

He had always wanted to be a ranger. Like Strider, from his favourite books this year (not the king, though; that was too much work). Or a photographer, preferably for National Geographic— he had quite the collection now. Or an artist— he could use the photos as a reference and—

Victor had not expected to hear the snap of a twig as he walked through the woods. Camera raises, he turned on his heel— the image of a fox or fawn or partridge or rabbit coming to mind as he hurriedly snapped a picture of whatever was behind him.

Only there was nothing. When he lowered his camera, he realized that his pack had caught on a twig.

There were more false alarms, short bursts of excitement as he explored. He saw plenty of evidence of animals, could follow strange tracks and find marks left on trees (even a very worn, small antler, that had become his prize for the day), but never came face-to-face with what he wanted to see. Eventually he turned back, trudging through the growth until the trees started to thin and he could hear the lake. He followed the sounds of ducks until he broke the tree line and started the search for his boat.

Though he hadn’t stopped for lunch in the forest, he rested now to examine his snacks. Adventure into the forest already planned for tomorrow.

"Are you going to do magic?"

Victor hadn’t expected a voice.

He fell off his little seat of moss and rotted log, and tripped into the shallows of the lake. He stared wide-eyed at the boy— the creature— looking at him. It was boy-sized, and shaped, but furred and deer-like. Big ears perked up, and small antlers stuck out, and Victor didn’t know what to make of it.

Clearly the creature didn’t care that Victor was now sat in shock in the shallows.

"With my old antler," the creature explained, creeping forward— Victor could see human features, human arms and hands and feet, but the creature was _certainly_ not human. But it cam closer and started rifling through the forgotten pack; “are you going to do magic?”

"Magic?"

"Yes." The creature frowned, sniffing and discarding the useless things like sugary snacks and books he found. "Humans must not be very smart."

"You’re not human."

"Of course not."

It found the camera, and that spurred Victor into action. Wet and confused, he grabbed for his most prized possession, before the creature could break it. He heard the telltale click of the shutter, and the creature dropped it in shock. Victor snatched it from the ground, and looked up only to see the flash of white of a startled deer tail disappear into the forest.

It was well past dinner when he made it back across the lake and to the house. He clung to his pack, still in a state of numbed shock, not sure of what he saw or heard or did put in the woods now. But when he dumped the bag on his bed, along with the books and snacks and camera, there was a small, year-old antler in the pile.

He went with his father to get the film developed when there were errands to run in town. He begged his father for a book on local lore, and information about the forest.

The startled look of the creature he met on the other side of the lake was tucked away into the book about forest spirits— immortalized by his trusty camera.

During the rainy days that followed, he’d stare at the distant forest on the other edge of the lake. One more sunny day was all he needed to go back there.


End file.
